


truly, madly, deeply

by iaintinapatientphase



Series: maybe you and me should hang out some more [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 08:56:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7354333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iaintinapatientphase/pseuds/iaintinapatientphase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Uh huh. Do you know how long that's been happening? I just got back into town last night." Peggy's been busy with work, but not so far out of the loop she'd miss a new boyfriend. Or a new… whatever. Eliza doesn’t usually fall that fast.</p><p>Laurens snorts into his drink. "Like, four weeks, tops? It's been like that the entire time, though."</p>
            </blockquote>





	truly, madly, deeply

**Author's Note:**

> i love these dumb babies so much. title also from "the club" from "in the heights."
> 
> come talk to me on [tumblr](http://iaintinapatientphase.tumblr.com/).

"I have two questions for you."

"Okay?"

"First: who is Lauren?" Peggy asks the guy sitting on the kitchen counter.

"Um. Who?"

"Lauren. The host of this," she waves an arm vaguely at the room, "gathering."

"Oh!" The furrow in the guys freckled brow clears immediately. "That's me. Laurens. Last name."

"Oh. Okay. Well, thanks for having me, I guess,” she says, smiling in what she hopes is a polite manner. She’s fucking tired, okay? She hates planes and she was at work four hours ago. “Can I borrow your hair tie?"

Laurens nods easily and slips it off his wrist.

“That wasn’t one of the original questions,” she says absently, ties her hair up in a bun. "So three questions. Who is that my sister is sitting on?" she asks, nodding across the room at the couch that contains Eliza and some guy with a huge forehead and a hand up the back of Eliza's gauzy, white, nearly see through — Jesus, does she even own any bras? — top.

"Oh, shit,” he laughs. “You're Eliza's sister?"

"I guess I'll claim her, sure. And that is?"

"That's Alex. He's my old roommate from law school. I know his hand’s up her shirt right now, but he’s a good guy, I swear."

"Uh huh. Do you know how long that's been happening? I just got back into town last night." Peggy's been busy with work, but not so far out of the loop she'd miss a new boyfriend. Or a new… whatever. Eliza doesn’t usually fall that fast.

Laurens snorts into his drink. "Like, four weeks, tops? It's been like that the entire time, though."

"Seriously?" Eliza's got her arm wrapped around Alex's shoulders, and Peggy watches as she whispers something in his ear that makes him grin pornographically. "Jesus," Peggy says. "I am so sorry."

"They're not _that_  bad, I suppose. At least I don't share bedroom walls with him anymore."

Peggy takes a moment to be grateful she’s already dropped her stuff at her parents’ house. "Huh. Can I have a sip of that?" she says, pointing at the drink in his hand.

He smiles knowingly and hands it over. "Does she know you're coming?"

"Allegedly. She did invite me. I didn't text her or anything, some guy let me up."

“C’mon. I'll help you break them up to say hi."

He slides off the counter, good-naturedly pushes a few people out of the way and clears their path to the couch to interrupt whatever Eliza's telling that dude to make his eyebrows go so high.

"Peggy!" Eliza says delightedly when she spots her, hops up from Alex's lap and hugs her. "You didn't tell me you were here!"

“I just got here,” she says into Eliza's shoulder. She did miss her, quite a lot, her ridiculous big sister. “Said hello to our gracious host and everything.”

“Good! I'm so happy you're back!” She reaches behind her and hauls ten-head forward, her arm around his shoulders — they're basically the same height. He doesn't seem to mind. “Peggy, this is Alexander.”

“Little sister,” he says seriously, reaches around Eliza to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Charmed. Totally,” Peggy agrees.

“Peggy does space things,” Eliza announces, adorably proud despite her wide, drunk eyes, “and Alexander is a lawyer.”

“Very exciting,” Peggy says, nodding and hoping she looks suitably impressed to get Eliza to stop looking at her so expectantly. She’s pretended to like boring guys Eliza’s dated before, it’s not like this is totally new territory.

“It's alright,” he says, fake modest. Laurens smothers a laugh. “Tell me about space.”

Peggy steals Eliza's drink and gives him the usual rundown, finds herself talking for a while — he's got a lot of questions, smartass nerd, even if he seems distracted by Eliza's hand slipping from his belt loop into his back pocket. It's disgusting, honestly, how brazen they're being with her all over him and his arm tight around her waist. She would, she _should_ yank Eliza out of there and tell her to get her shit together, but she looks so stupid happy she can't make herself do it.

Alexander seems nice too, even if he does work for I-Heart-Capitalism Industries, and his friend seems okay too. Peggy leaves after an hour or so — she can take a hint, and she'd rather not see her sister try to fuck some dude in the middle of a party — with a promise to meet Laurens for a drink and a reminder to Eliza about brunch tomorrow.

She invited Alex, too, as an afterthought. She's not sure why she bothered, honestly, she knows he'll be there. It's pretty clear Eliza's not letting him go anytime soon.

\---------

They were both quiet on the train ride home from John’s, a sleepy, drunk kind of quiet, her head on his shoulder and his thumb rubbing back and forth absently on her knee. Alexander’s apartment is just a block from the stop — efficient for commuting, he told her seriously, when she made a joke about train noise, he's such a dork — and they walk it slow, hand in hand, her feet a little sore in the heels that make her just a half inch taller than him.

He doesn't mind, he never has. She likes that about him. She catches him staring at her legs in the elevator upstairs and he winks, entirely unashamed.

He opens the door for her, a grand, sweeping movement because he's dramatic. Eliza steadies herself with a hand against the wall and bends over slightly to unbuckle her shoe.

She's barely kicked off the second when Alexander presses in behind her, pushing her forward so her forehead rests against the wall, his lips hot on her neck. One hand pushes her skirt up the final two inches from daringly short to straight up obscene. “This,” he says, low and gravely while he drags his hand up the inside of her thigh, “is insane. This is so fucking hot.”

“Yeah?” she says, pushes back against him, a challenge.

“Fuck yes,” he breathes, one hand roving over her stomach, up to her chest and back down, while the other stays just out of reach.

They've been spending almost all their time together since the drink that was apparently a date a few weeks ago. She meets him after work for dinner, he comes by after she's back from her run, they've spent the last three Saturdays barely leaving bed. It's a lot. And it's good, it's so good, not just the sex (which is fucking incredible) but everything. She likes him so much, _so much_ , the way he talks to himself and chews on pens and listens, rapt, whenever she so much as opens her mouth.

She likes him even better when he’s not being a horrible tease. Eliza doesn't mind parties, usually. Especially when they're filled with friends, even less when she gets to see Peggy. She does mind them when it's the first time she's seen Alexander in two days and he insists on staying long enough to make small talk with everyone.

He did it to be obnoxious, she's sure. He had been texting her absolute depravity all day and got her naked on FaceTime the night before — she's sure the exaggerated politeness was an act. He missed her just as much as she did him, she's sure of it.

Eliza shifts her hips. “Come _on_ ,” she says, puts a hand on top of his and presses up to where she wants him. “Touch me.”

“I am,” he says innocently, lacing his fingers through those of her other hand and pressing both flat against the wall.

“Alexander, come — oh.” Her breath hitches as he finally, finally dances his fingers over her, firm on her clit and rubbing small, slow circles. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” she gasps as his hand speeds up and he places a line of kisses down the back of her neck.

“I wanted to do this all night,” Alexander says into where her neck meets her shoulder. “It was killing me, the way you just sat there all normal, on my lap in front of everyone wearing this and I could tell you weren't wearing anything underneath, everyone could tell, we could have done this right there at the party if we wanted to.” Eliza shudders. He’s everywhere, all the time, which five weeks ago would have horrified her but now she craves it, can’t breathe for wanting the solid weight of him behind her, his lips brushing her ear, asking — though he knows the answer, he’s too smart not to — “Is that what you wanted?”

“Yes, God,” she breathes, pressing herself harder onto his hand. Yes, that's exactly what she wanted. She doesn't know what it is about him that drags this out of her, the wanting, the need, the desire to point at his dumb face and stupid too-fancy clothes and scream “that boy is _mine_ ” in crowded rooms, but he does. It’s overwhelming, just how much she feels for him, after barely any time at all. It’s too much, it’s never enough, but it feels right — it’s how she felt when she invited him over ten seconds after meeting him. “Wait. No. I wanted more, I wanted to—” she chokes off a little when he presses harder.

“What did you want, babe? Tell me and it's yours, whatever you want,” he mutters against her throat, bites down a little without waiting for an answer. He pulls back just enough that she can move — not that she wants to — and turns her back around to face him. “Take this off.”

“You first,” she demands, pulls at the hem of that nice tan sweater — the one she said she liked on him and that he now wears three times a week, how stupid cute is that — until he huffs _okay, okay_ , and takes his hands off her long enough to yank it over his head and shove his jeans off.

Attempts to, anyway. He has to give up and sit down to pull his shoe off — idiot ties the laces too tight, he doesn't get that they're supposed to be decorative. Eliza laughs, she can't help herself, he's a dumb idiot but he's her dumb idiot.

“Rude,” he huffs, finally succeeds in getting himself naked but she stops him from getting up, a firm hand on his shoulder, pushes him back down gently.

“You like it,” she says, straddles his hips on the floor by his front door and kisses the stupid pout off his face. Alexander does so like to impress her, it's insanely flattering. He invites her over for lunch at his office, sends her long, breathless messages throughout the day, tries to get her to let him buy her hundred dollar meals multiple times a week. He’s not subtle, she gets it, she can see the bleeding edge of insecurity underneath, but whatever they have feels too new to push him too hard and tell him to chill. He’s already got her, he can stop trying.

He can, technically, but Eliza appreciates the effort, appreciates how he inhales sharply when she digs her nails just a little into his skin and drags them down his back. Alexander groans into her mouth, hands moving over her as restless as the rest of him. “Right here, baby?”

She knows she probably shouldn't, it'll be hell on her knees tomorrow and she knows he doesn't clean all that well, but she doesn't _care_ , she's been on edge all night, the muscles in his leg flexing underneath her, watching him swallow whenever she shifted or leaned in to whisper in his ear, and she just wants him _now_.

“Shut up,” she says fondly. She balances with her hands on his shoulders and sinks down onto him with a long, low sigh she feels through every inch of her, rides him slow, his voice in her ear all  _good, baby, that's so good, you're so beautiful when you're fucking me_. Sooner than she expected — though she's not all that surprised, she's been worked up for hours — she's shaking on top of him, arms tight around his neck while it rockets through her and he says _yes, yes, Eliza that's good, right there_ , one hand rubbing smooth on her back and the other at her clit coaxing her through it, kissing her almost chastely on the temple when she drops her forehead to his shoulder to catch her breath.

He's still straining underneath her, murmuring something she's still too fuzzy to make out. “Keep going,” she tells him, yanks his head back by his loose hair to kiss him, lets him grab at her hips and set his own pace, bites at his neck how he likes and gets a choked out gasp of her name when he comes. Alexander doesn’t stop, he never does, he gets her off him and down onto her back quickly and easily, pauses to drop a quick kiss on her cheek on his way to press her thighs apart, and with just the heel of his hand hard on her clit and one slow lick up the seam of her she's near incoherent again, fists a hand in his hair, grinds against his face while he gets her off again.

The room stops spinning a few minutes later. Eliza can still see stars behind her eyelids, thinks idly about asking him to spin them into constellations for her like he did the few they can see from her roof. That was a good night, the two of them up there with a few candles and a bottle of wine, the way Alexander turned all the dizzying vastness of the night into something she could understand, made the world into something she could hold in her hands.

“That was nice,” she says, lets her head loll over to look at him sprawled out next to her.

“I'd hope that it was better than nice,” he says, but leans in to kiss her lightly on the shoulder. “Wanna move somewhere more comfortable?”

“I'm a little… you know.” She shrugs. “Wherever’s cool.”

“As long as I'm with you,” he says, cheesy and dramatic — he knows it, bats his eyes at her and smiles when she laughs — but she feels a warm kind of feeling in her stomach anyway and can't help but agree.

\---------

“God, Peggy, shut up,” Eliza says, bats her hand away from stealing the rest of Eliza’s mimosa. “Angelica got a ring on her finger before you even noticed that she was seeing someone.”

“Bye, don’t be rude! You know I was doing a fellowship that semester,” Peggy says. “Church also isn’t here for me to make fun of, he’s in — where is he?”

“Shanghai,” Angelica answers, long fingers drumming on the table. “I have his credit card, though. He feels bad for missing.”

“Fuck yeah, let’s get another round. You want another, Alex?” Peggy asks, eyes turned on him like a set of dark lasers.

“Nah, I’m good,” he says, straining for politeness. He’s already met Angelica a bunch of times, they run in similar professional circles, but he’s only heard of Peggy secondhand until last night, and last night Eliza was wearing a very short skirt and he was a little distracted. Eliza had mentioned brunch to him a few weeks ago, how it’s a capital-T Thing when Peggy’s in town and more of a “when we’re not busy or hungover” thing when it’s just her and Angelica, but she hadn’t mentioned that her little sister would be on fucking guard, trying to have shovel talk with him over expensive eggs benedict and suss out his feelings for her sister.

It’s not a pretty sure, not anymore. Alex is totally, completely, disgustingly in love with Eliza. She's unreal, honestly, he still can't believe she talks to him. Eliza is so _good_ , she's warm and kind and smart and thoughtful and funny and she has a way of smiling and holding his hand that makes him believe that he can do anything, that he can be anything, and it'll all be for her. He's certain he's in love with her now — “now,” he says, like he hasn't been in love with her since she ordered them fifty dollars of breakfast and made him coffee in a _Vassar Grandma_ mug that first morning. He adores her, wants to hold her hand and introduce her to everyone he knows and buy her miniatures of all the paintings she said she liked when they went to the museum last week.

That doesn’t mean she’s not the bane of his fucking existence this morning.

She came over after John’s party (great, better than great), slept next to him all soft and warm and shit (excellent), made coffee when she woke up an hour or so after him and brought him a cup while he was in the middle of Sunday Catch Up Time, getting ahead on some work for the week (an angel, he called her, and meant it.)

Then she proceeded to interrupt said designated work time by getting up on his desk (with no underwear on!!!) and claiming that she thinks his glasses are hot (a lie, but she looked like she meant it), and she likes when he looks smart, let her show him how much (un fucking real), and that was the end of that.

That's a thing, a sort of recurring theme, he's noticed. “I like how smart you are,” she told him a few weeks ago. It’s so fucking much, her trying to talk to him while they’re doing stuff — she’s tried, she’s looser when she’s been drinking, but Eliza isn’t the type to run her mouth the way that he does — he loves the way her voice twists, the way he makes her come apart, it’s so blindingly hot. Surprisingly shy considering that she was in his bed at the time, squirming and laughing with his fingers twisting inside her, a sweet answer to a decidedly filthy question — “do you like that, babe, tell me me what you like I wanna make you feel good you look so gorgeous like this” et al. The normal sort of filth, the kind Alexander doesn't really notice himself saying, but it would seem that Eliza does.

Eliza gasped a “I like when you talk, I like when you tell me things, you're so fucking hot when you're being smart,” blushing and giggling but serious. She keeps saying it, too: getting all wide eyed when she listens to him on the phone, bringing him lunch when he works on Sundays in her consistently indecent skirts and the door locked behind her, and this morning, shoving his laptop to the side and resting an ankle on his shoulder and being rudely, unfairly beautiful.

She really is so pretty he wants to die, the pale skin of her neck bared by her ponytail, the rings she likes to play with while she’s talking glittering on her finger, the way she settles into a lighter, more comfortable version of herself when she’s around people she likes. She’s wearing his shirt, her favorite scarf and sweater thrown over it, but it’s his, still, and it strikes him as both impossibly hot and… good, at the same time. Not unlike Eliza herself.

But Eliza is also awful, she's a demon, she's sitting next to him talking to her sisters all calm and cool like she doesn't have her hand resting very high on his leg under the table where they can't see. A demon, he thinks again, a horrible, terrible, girl-that-he's-hanging-out-with-and-fucking-frequently-but-maybe-not-a-girlfriend-yet. She leans in and whispers in his ear while Peggy and Angelica argue over whether the orange juice is really fresh squeezed or not, kisses the spot she bit when she came, and goes back to talking to her sisters about whether they should get the blood orange or regular orange pitcher, like Angelica’s fiance doesn’t have more than enough money to buy six of both. Like, are you fucking kidding him with this shit.

She shifts again, nails digging into his thigh as she steadies herself, and he weighs the pros and cons of ditching their meals and taking her back home right now. Eliza’s so touchy, all the time, fixing his hair and holding his hand and sitting on him in public like he’s capable of not reacting.

“Oh, Christ, Eliza, please stop groping your boyfriend while I’m trying to eat breakfast,” Peggy sighs, and Alex reflexively jerks upright and away from Eliza, table rattling a little in his haste to look appropriate.

Eliza huffs. “Guys —”

“It’s not that serious, you guys, don’t make it a big deal,” Angelica and Peggy chorus in unison — Angelica bored, stacking sugar packets; Peggy lightly mocking but with a hand on Eliza’s.

“We know, babe,” Angelica says. “Peggy will chill.”

“I will not.”

“I mean, that’s not the part I was objecting to,” Eliza says, takes Alex’s hand under the table, pulls him decisively back into her space. “We’re together, or whatever. It’s still not a big deal, but it might be serious.”

Alex nods quickly, tries to turn his giddy grin into something a little less insane. “What she said.”

“Right. Sure. Well, still no PDA at the table, kiddos,” Peggy says.

Eliza rolls her eyes. “Fine, Dr. Schuyler, we get it.”

“Ew, Gel, did you hear that, she said ‘we!’”

“I’m choosing not to.”

Eliza’s being so fake-casual next to him, and Alex wants to kiss her, wants to hug her, wants to stand up and scream something embarrassing to the entire restaurant, but he’s trying to impress her sisters and he can still hear “together, or whatever,” ringing in his ears. He settles for squeezing her hand, and if he wasn’t sure before she smiled back at him, soft and warm and with a little of the same excitement he feels, well. He sure as fuck loves her now.


End file.
